


Waiting on a Friend

by Bethynyc



Category: James Bond (Movies), Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethynyc/pseuds/Bethynyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Rolling Stones song title challenge for slashthedrabble.</p>
<p>Originally posted to my fic journal February 5, 2007.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting on a Friend

The night was a wash. The trendy, overpriced bar’s only redeeming qualities were an excess of top shelf liquor and an excellent bartender. Beautiful women flocked about, but James was not in the mood for their twittering. The next day was a Very Important Meeting with M regarding his next assignment, and he wanted to be properly hung over for it.

“This seat taken?” The voice was male and American. James wasn’t in the mood for company.

“Waiting on a friend,” growled James, before taking another sip of his vodka martini.

The bastard sat down anyway. “I’ll just keep the seat warm for her, then.”

James glanced over to see the stranger with a too-open smile, roguish blue eyes, and a vintage military coat settle on the stool. He nodded at the bartender. “I’ll have what he’s having,” before turning the blinding grin on James. “Jack.”

“James.” He begrudged even that amount of interaction.

A vodka martini appeared in front of the intruder. “Thank you.” Jack reached for his wallet, and James noted the telltale bulge underneath the other man’s arm.

James allowed one corner of his mouth to drift upwards in amusement before leaning over to whisper in his new companion’s ear. “Mind waiting to kill me until I’ve finished getting thoroughly drunk?”

He timed it perfectly; Jack spit Grey Goose all over the bar.

“You’re buying the replacement.” Jack said, and smirked. “Besides, assassination’s not my thing.”

“Nor mine.” James nodded at the bartender, and took a deep swallow of his own drink. “I just want to get extremely drunk.”

“Bad day at the office?”

“No. But tomorrow will be. Want to put off thinking about it for as long as possible.”

“I see.” Jack looked at him sideways, and they drank.

Despite himself, James found him drawn into conversation with Jack. They shared a number of common interests, including alcohol and cars. They wrangled companionably about the various merits of Russian vs. Czech Republic vodkas.

After the two fended off the advances yet another actress/model, James was fed up. He paid the tab, tipping outrageously.

“Heading out?” Jack leaned back and met James’ gaze.

“Sadly, yes. A man can’t get sloshed in peace around here.”

“My hotel’s close, if you’d like to continue.”

James knew he was nowhere near the amount of drunk he wanted to be, so he nodded.

Twenty minutes later they were in Jack’s hotel room, ties gone, shirts loosened, laughing hysterically at James’ imitation of Q. When they finally calmed down enough to breathe, leaning against each other on the couch, Jack looked at James.

“You drunk enough?”

James gasped and nodded, holding his stomach. Jack reached out, took James’ chin, and kissed him, a sloppy-drunk kiss.

With a start, James realized that this was what he wanted, why he didn’t want the bar girls. He kissed back, and unbuttoned Jack’s shirt the rest of the way, reveling in the warm, firm touch of Jack’s hands.

Fuck M and her meeting tomorrow, anyway.


End file.
